


Fights & Hot Chocolate

by Youwerenevermeanttofeelalone



Category: Batman - Fandom, DC Comics
Genre: F/M, Mentions of Injuries, Protective!Dick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:55:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22435234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Youwerenevermeanttofeelalone/pseuds/Youwerenevermeanttofeelalone
Summary: Dick and you always fight because of the same thing. You prove his point, he gets protective.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Plus Size Reader, Dick Grayson/Reader
Kudos: 62





	Fights & Hot Chocolate

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr and request something at @youwerenevermeanttofeelalone

You walked out on him that morning, tired of the same excuse he gave you before every mission. When teenagers fantasize with a protective boyfriend they never think about said boyfriend not letting them do their job, no one fantasizes with their partner making them feel so small actually. 

It was hypocritical, yelling at you for putting yourself in danger when he did that every night. Dick was great in every other regard, but when it came to vigilantism he was biased and it was time for him to see it. You feared that fighting so often would damage the relationship, but giving in wasn’t an option because it simply wasn’t fair for you to quit being a Titan— not after how hard it had been for you to believe in yourself, to believe that you were as capable an athletic as the others no matter your weight and complexion.

His orders were harsher when directed at you that day, drier in contrast to the way the spoke to the others. You had already expected it, Dick wasn’t always good at keeping his anger at bay and although he was getting better the pressure of being the leader of a team took a toll on him. 

Everything was going smoothly until it didn’t. Gar was too slow and your instincts kicked in. Pushing your friend aside, you yelped as soon as the blade pierced your skin. 

Dick’s worry increased as the minutes passed. He was told he had to be patient, not one of his qualities if anyone asked him— or you, or Alfred, or Bruce— and one that even if he had would fail him in such a situation. He should’ve known you would be your stubborn self and put yourself in danger, and he shouldn’t have yelled at you. 

❖︎・・・・・❖︎・・・・・❖︎・・・・・❖︎

White light blinded you, a pang on your right side making you wince as you tried to adjust to the uncomfortable surface you were laying on and the harsh lighting. 

Alfred was by your side in an instant, making sure your vital signs were okay. You weakly smiled at him as a thank you which relieved him. He helped you get comfortable on the bed, careful to not hurt you. 

“How’s everyone else?” you struggled to ask. 

“They’re more than fine, Ms. (Y/N). You’re the only injured one.” Great, just another reason for Dick to yell at you as soon as he saw you. 

You didn’t expect your boyfriend to enter the room the moment Alfred left. The silence between you was as uncomfortable as awkward— he clearly wanted to say something, so you waited for a comment that never came. 

Dick couldn’t stop staring or find the appropriate thing to say for that matter. He had known you would be okay, but what if you wouldn’t? What if he hadn’t taken you to Alfred on time? What if the injury had been more critical? 

He skipped patrol that night to stay with you in case you needed anything. Your silence hurt him, he wanted to hear your voice, to know you were okay by your own words. Fighting with you always bummed him, and the reason behind said fights always being the same wasn’t comforting at all. He didn’t think it was fair for you to worry him as much as you did because you couldn’t help but putting other people before you— he loved that about you because of how kind and caring you were but he hated it because he didn’t want anything bad to happen to you. 

Dick understood, however, that either of you saying something would end in another fight. Not wanting to upset you, he just made you company until you fell asleep. 

❖︎・・・・・❖︎・・・・・❖︎・・・・・❖︎

Dark strands of hair were such a familiar sight to you. Through your fingers, on your chest or stomach, between your legs, from behind the mirror when Dick fixed his hair as you did your makeup... your favorite one was when you’d get home and he’d be on the couch, laying on his side with a hand under his cheek and his untamed hair let you know he had been tossing on the couch like he often did when he was watching tv or playing video games before falling asleep. 

The one you were seeing was close to that, but his neck was stiff and his body curled up in what seemed an attempt to fit perfectly in the armchair. He stirred awake no long after, you hoped it wasn’t because of the intensity of your gaze. 

Groggily, he asked, “how are you feeling?”

“Sore,” you answered truthfully. 

He bolted up the chair the moment you made a motion to change your position. 

You lifted a hand, “I can do it on my own.”

Dick ignored your stubbornness and held you carefully with his palm flat on your back. You groaned as you tried to get comfortable, annoyed by his gesture to no end. His exasperated sigh made you roll your eyes, maddening you even more. 

“Can you stop acting like a brat for a moment?”

“I wouldn’t act like a brat if you didn’t make me feel so guilty, Richard!” You snapped. 

He huffed, crossing his arms. Opening his mouth only to clamp it shut, Dick turned around and sat back down, seemingly deciding to keep quiet. Probably for the best. 

The recovering days were nightmarish. Your boyfriend didn’t really speak to you but would be overprotective at every moment. Dick had gone to the extent of leaving you under his family’s care, his siblings would take turns with Alfred to come and visit you, they’d bring food and movies to watch so they could distract you.

Tired of it all, you waited up for him one night. You felt fine, you weren’t in pain anymore, and you had started to do lightweight chores. 

Dick threw his duffle-bag carelessly to the floor upon hearing noises in the kitchen. To his horror, you were making what looked like hot chocolate. 

“Lemme do it,” he said from behind you, his warm palm resting lightly on your lower back as if to steady you. 

You merely shook your head, your attention never moving away from the saucepan. “Do you want a cup?” you asked softly, hoping you could avoid another fight. 

He didn’t answer you. Dick continued to steady you until the beverage was ready. Surprised, you poured the hot mixture into the two mugs you had ready. He removed his hand from your backside to pick both mugs, carrying them to the table. 

Smirking to yourself, you turned the hob off. His eyes didn’t leave your form, watching every move you made toward the table. Dick had already pulled a chair out for you which you took, nodding as a thank you. 

“You feeling better?” You nodded to answer his question. “Alfred said you’ll be good as new in a couple of weeks.”

“That’s a stretch,” you blurted. Your expectations were to be ready by next week. 

He took a gulp of hot chocolate to restrain himself. He had promised he’d try, although it hadn’t gone well the first time he could try some more. “It’s a safety precaution,” he opted for explaining, softly putting the mug on the table. 

Wrapping your fingers around your mug, you unconsciously sighed as the heat from the ceramic warmed your palms. “Are you still mad at me?” 

“I don’t know,” he answered bluntly. “I don’t want to,” his clarification came quickly, “you scared the shit out of me.”

“I didn’t mean to.” 

Dick didn’t doubt it. In fact, one of the few things he was sure in life was that you would never intentionally hurt him. He worried his fear of losing you would make you think he didn’t view you as capable— words weren’t enough to tell you how proud he was of you. And he was sure it was mutual. 

“You need to be more careful,” he repeated what he said every time you got injured. 

Placing the mug down, you wiped the chocolate mustache off with a napkin as you nodded. “You need to not get mad at me for doing my job, though.”

Dick nodded back, extending his hand across the table to place on top of yours. You marveled at how warm his palms were all the time, how their weight was always so comforting. Like him. 

“Am I forgiven?” he inquired, standing up to take the seat next to yours instead of the one in front of you. 

Chuckling, you feigned pondering. “I suppose you are,” you teased. The relief of the tension between you finally coming to an end increasing as he turned his hand to intertwine his fingers with yours. 

“Thank God,” he exclaimed, leaning to kiss the side of your head. “I hate sleeping without you.”

“That makes two of us.” You leaned closer to him too, placing your head on his shoulder. You knew better than trying to get too touchy at that moment, he’d scold you and get protective, after all.


End file.
